For Beer and Country
by starshards
Summary: The year is 1776. The French Revolution is in full swing, and two drinking buddies, united in their love for beer and for battle, find themselves sitting in a little pub wondering what it could all mean for them.


This is set in the late 1790s, shortly before the Napoleonic Wars kicked off. During the wars, England was allied with Prussia, Russia, Spain, Portugal, Sweden and Holland against France.

It also helps that I have an unashamed love of Prussia x England.

* * *

There were several things that England could tolerate about Prussia.

Firstly, he knew how to handle himself in a fight. He was ruthlessly organised, focused, and not a little bloodthirsty which made him a damn good ally to have at your back in a pinch, because God only knew when the next brawl was going to break out. Tch. _Europe_.

Anyway, secondly, he was straightforward. There was no poncing around with Prussia, oh no. With him there was none of that insufferable diplomacy bollocks. He either agreed with you, or he didn't. You might wake up one day with a letter declaring an alliance sitting on your doorstep, or you might wake up with his army waiting at the foot of your bed. He wasn't rash. Scratch that, he _was_ rash, but he wasn't brainless. He picked fights that he knew he'd win and that would end up advantageous for him, and since England's green and pleasant land was a lovely little island that was far too much effort for anyone with any _sense_ to take, England wholeheartedly admired his policy.

There were a whole lot of thirdly, fourthly and fifthlies that England respected, but the most important reason that England lik- tolerated Prussia was-

'I hate France.'

That.

'What was that?'

'France. I hate him,' Prussia declared passionately, hands curled into fists as he slammed them onto the flimsy wooden table that they were sitting at, causing all of the occupants of the little inn they were drinking in to stare at them in irritation. 'He's such an obnoxious moron, especially at the moment. What is he thinking?' he snorted derisively. 'Having a revolution at a time like this. I'll tell you what, I don't like it one bit.'

'Hmmm,' England agreed.

'Acting like he's so much better than all of us. Bah! All of this empire shit drives me mad,' Prussia ranted on.

England didn't find it necessary to point out that he had an empire. He didn't find it necessary to remind Prussia that _his own_ state was pretty much an empire, because Prussia, as he had stated earlier, was very straightforward. His general range of emotions tended to centre on being excited, angry, or both. When he wasn't declaring war on someone, he was usually upsetting people, convincing himself that everyone was out to get him, or _plotting_ to declare war on someone.

The point was, if you left Prussia to rant on to himself, he'd either talk himself into being paranoid and launch into a military offensive, or tire himself out and shut up.

Both options were equally appealing to England.

'Spain seems uncomfortable too,' England added as Prussia paused to take a much needed gulp of beer. There was no harm in adding a little fuel to the fire after all, he reasoned.

'Spain?' Prussia blinked, looking lost for a moment.

'_Spain,'_ England stressed, giving him a deadpan look.

'Oh, him! Yes! Wait, I thought that he and France were brothers?' Prussia looked confused.

England shrugged. 'You think that matters a jot to France? Trust me, this revolution is going to lead to big things. You mark my words, France will be looking to expand.'

'East?' Prussia practically snarled.

'Perhaps,' England chose that moment to take a slug of ale. 'Of course, if he does look East, _I'll_ be there to stop him. I have interests there after all.' England was proud of how he'd broached the subject. There was nothing wrong with planting the quiet thought of an alliance just in case of a future that may or may not occur. No one could ever accuse England of not looking out for his best interests.

'Ah, your little "personal union" with the brat,' Prussia waved his hand dismissively, referring to his beloved protégé come self- created nemesis -purely because he couldn't bully him as much as he wanted to- the Holy Roman Empire (whom _he_ fondly called "_West"_).

'My union is with Hanover,' England corrected him. 'Plus, I'm also obliged to step in if France poses a threat to Portugal, since we've been allied for God knows how many years. Add to that the fact that if France looks west it's me that he'll find… It's all very iffy. Russia's getting fidgety, and so is Sweden. If we're not careful there could be a lot of trouble very soon. Someone will just _have_ to step in if France starts throwing his weight around.' England concluded, helping himself to more of his drink.

Prussia regarded him for a long moment. 'Why, England,' he said finally. 'If I didn't know any better I'd say that you're looking for any old excuse to go to war with that old bastard."

England grinned then, a wide, almost naughty grin that made him look much younger, offering the other blond a brief glimpse of a true nature that was usually hidden under a stoic disguise. Prussia laughed loudly and brashly, slapping the other on the back in a bizarrely friendly and affectionate gesture. 'You devious little shit,' he chuckled.

'_What_?' England defended himself, though he was still smiling. 'I'm just future-proofing.'

'You're a horrible little bastard, England. You can't half tell that we're related,' Prussia smirked. 'Though I got the looks.'

England groaned and slapped a hand to his forehead. 'Distantly related,' he corrected.

'Oh yeah,' the Prussian man continued. 'You've got Scandinavian in you, haven't you? Hmmm… what else is there I wonder? A bit of Fren—'

'There is _no_ French in me,' England shouted, slamming his fist down. 'That was a… weird time, but there sure as Hell is no French in me.' Not enough to note, anyway, bloody Normans. He added silently to himself.

'So you're German then,' Prussia concluded.

'No, I'm English… British,' England corrected himself. He was still adjusting to his new title. It had only been ninety- odd years since the Act of Union, after all. It was all still very new to him.

'Mongrel,' Prussia smirked into his tankard.

'Wanker,' England frowned back.

They drank in silence for a few more moments before Prussia slammed his tankard down onto the table with a heavy thunk, his usual demented grin firmly back in place.

'I say,' he announced. 'We get pissed, talk about how stupid France and Austria are, and then fuck.'

Prussia was, England knew all too well, remarkably straightforward. There was no poncing around with Prussia, oh no, and it was one of the things that England lo- lik- tolerated about him.

So he raised his tankard in salute and joined him in draining it, before hurriedly ordering another.

* * *

Trufax: Germans, English, Dutch, Danes, Swedish, and Norwegians are among those who are descended from the Germanic tribes (aka, Legolas).


End file.
